Tourniquet
by Pluie Mauve
Summary: Naruto modern AU. Nursing her pained heart from the loss of her beloved, Sakura takes in a boy who bears a strong resemblance to her late husband. Little did she know, there was more to the kid than meets the eye. Will someone bleed in this harmless game of house? Madara/Sakura pairing. If such is not to your liking, kindly hit the back button. Rating is subject to change.
1. Zero

_**A/N:** I noticed that there aren't so many MadaSaku fics out there. I'm embarrassed to admit that I'd discovered the pairing only recently. I initially though about writing a time travel fic, but after consideration, I'd thought it troublesome. And most works featuring Madara/Sakura involve that sci-fi phenomenon. I am no good with summaries, but I do hope you give this one a try. Again, if you don't like the pairing, then you are **obviously** on the wrong page. Here goes nothing..._

* * *

 **Zero**

Spring.

The cherry blossom trees were in full bloom, showering everything with its pink petals. What was normally a beautiful sight seemed to mock her, a spiteful reminder of the cruel ephemerality of life. Today was no different from that day.

"Ne, Sasuke, I really did it this time, didn't I?" Sakura smiled wanly, sitting down on the mausoleum floor. A solitary tear streaked her cheek as she placed a bouquet of white roses beside his tomb.

It took her an entire year to finally visit his grave. She had _no_ right to be near him, to be in the presence of anything that remained of him. Her friends and family told her otherwise, but she knew it was her fault. The blame was hers to bear.

"It's you who couldn't make it this time," she muttered softly. A muffled sob escaped her lips. "I won't bother asking for forgiveness; I don't deserve it. For what it's worth, happy third anniversary, my love."

Minutes turned into hours, and the concrete grew colder against her back. The sun had long since set. Perhaps she was overstaying her welcome. She cast a longing glance at the edifice that housed her beloved's body. Focus and determination reigned in her eyes as she sped away from the cemetery.

An emergency was abruptly shoved in her face before she could even set foot in the hospital. "What have we got here?"

"Broken ribs. Collapsed lungs and a ruptured spleen," the policeman reported.

Sakura touched the man's bleeding forehead while maintaining her brisk pace. "Has the family been informed?"

The uniformed officer shook his head. "Unfortunately, we've found no identification on the victim. HQ is running through the database as we speak. Until then…"

"All right. Ultrasound, X-ray, 12-chem, type and cross-match. We need to drain the lungs and spleen." Sakura calmly issued orders as her subordinates began working on the operating table. She'd managed to drain the punctured organs and stop the bleeding. The patient's vital signs were stabilizing slowly but surely.

She was denied a moment's respite, as another stretcher came rolling into her view. She hurriedly followed the team of medics as they rushed toward the adjacent operating room.

"Okay, let's ge—" She froze, her eyes being the only part of her capable of movement. The scalpel slipped from her trembling hand, clamoring at its landing.

"Sakura-san?"

Noting the surprise and urgency on the other surgeon's face, the pink-haired woman snapped out of her trance. She cursed mentally and retrieved another scalpel. Not now. You swore it wouldn't happen again, she reminded herself.

"Arterial lines set. Tubes, now."

"Request for three units of O neg."

"Heart rate 110-210. Blood pressure 95/55 mmHg. We've sterilized the wound."

"We'll be needing more than that. TEE confirms a foreign body in the left atrium."

Sakura faced the patient once more, letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. It was a boy, no more than ten years old. Despite the age difference, the striking resemblance was plain. Blue-tinted ink fringes that greatly contrasted his pale complexion framed his elegant visage. A strong jaw paired with an aristocratic nose, artful eyebrows bordering what she discerned to be heavy-lidded eyes, thin yet somewhat full masculine lips...all of these screamed 'Sasuke.'

Were the gods inflicting the punishment she so deserved? Or was this a chance to redeem herself? Convincing herself that the latter was the correct answer of the two, she proceeded to removing the shrapnel.

Red flooded her vision. Blood. Blood. Blood. She was exercising utmost carefulness. As she'd learned firsthand, a single misstep could, no, _will_ lead to death. And she cannot afford that. After performing a transverse incision in the apex of the left atrium, she successfully extracted the bullet lodged in his heart. Remorse filled her as she set aside the invading object. For someone so young…to sustain such an injury? It was beyond heart-rending.

"Running sutures."

"Blood pressure lowering. Heart rate still elevated."

The other surgeons started clearing out of the room, giving her smiles and congratulatory words. She sighed in relief. He didn't die, unlike Sasuke. She saved him. She actually saved him.

"I wonder if they're related," she mumbled absentmindedly as she watched the rise and fall of the unconscious boy's chest. Had her and Sasuke's union borne an offspring, this was probably what it would look like. She decided that the child would inherit her eye color. Pink locks like hers might be a tad severe. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes once more. She instantly lamented her train of thought. ''How silly of me,' she chided herself.

Without realizing it, she had fallen asleep on his bedside.

ѻѺѻ

He woke up to the rhythmic beeping of medical apparatuses. He immediately registered the smell of antiseptic, the bare walls, and the catheter jutting out of his wrist. The anesthetics are wearing off, he mused as piercing sensations came in scintillas coursing through every cell of his body. Shifting his posture on the hospital bed, he noticed something strange about his proportions.

The nurse's reaction to his awakening confirmed his suspicions. He clenched his teeth and growled under his breath.

"How is he?" a feminine voice said. A woman with pink hair burst through the door, looking for all the world as though she'd cured cancer. He lifted a brow as she neared him. 'Does she know who I am?'

Pinky was smiling widely at him. "I see you're awake, kid. How are you feeling?" she asked.

He folded his arms over his chest. 'This obnoxious pinkette,' he thought darkly. He didn't fail to notice the tantalizing glimmer of her seafoam eyes, or the sly curl of her sultry rosy lips. In short, he found her beautiful. Beautiful, intelligent albeit irritating.

"Woman, tell me how I arrived in this facility," he demanded coldly.

She flinched, retreating slightly to the backrest of her chair. Good. Her soft natterings of 'What are the odds...so like him...unbelievable' fell upon his ears. He stared at her incredulously as tears brimmed in her eyes. 'How fragile. Abhorrent.'

To his surprise, her smile remained plastered on her face. "I'm sorry," she giggled while dabbing her tears. "You were found in a car crash yesterday morning. Your...uh, companion is safe, as well. He's in the next room." Her eyes drifted across his petite form and settled on his midsection. "You're recovering nicely from the heart surgery. I hope you're not in so much pain."

"I am grateful," he drawled.

"Just doing my job," she chirped. "What's your name, little boy? Can you tell me who and where your parents are?"

He uncrossed his arms. Little boy? "I'm Madara. If you must know, the woman who birthed me lies six feet beneath the earth. My sire is probably soaking up brine at the bottom of the Mediterranean."

She bit her lip. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have any relatives?"

He answered her with a snort. She seemed not to take his rude response to heart. She leaned closer to his face, making his facial hair elevate slightly. "Madara. You have such strange red eyes. I mean, they're beautiful."

He allowed himself a tiny smirk. People rarely characterized the hereditary trait in the manner she had. Weird. Terrifying. Freak. Devil's spawn. He could care less. Such supposed insults, if anything, were music to his ears, a testament to the terror he inspired. He was feared, he knew that all too well. Yet this woman...

"You're an Uchiha, aren't you?" she suddenly asked.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "Observant wench. Who might you be?"

Insult disregarded, yet again. "I'm Sakura. Sakura Uchiha. Head of surgery."

He smirked slyly. "Uchiha. One of Fugaku or Kagami's sons, I assume."

"You're awfully knowledgeable, for someone your age," she said as she thumbed through her hair in thought. 'Not to mention, a bit disrespectful,' she added silently. "Your speech pattern says richly educated. How old are you? Eight?"

"I assure you, I am a man grown." He glowered at her. The cotton candy brat was beginning to irk him with her insistence on treating him like a child.

"So _adorable._ Of course you are." She pinched his nose gently. The nerve of this woman!

"When will I be released?" he inquired sharply while pushing her hand away, holding back the urge to uproot all of the hair on her pretty head.

"Tomorrow, at the earliest. You'll need a guardian, though. I'll contact Itachi right away."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't bother inconveniencing him."

"Hold on a sec," she said to him as she raised her phone to her ears.

"Damned woman," he grumbled.

"Oh, I see. I understand. Thank you so much, Inabi." Sakura sighed and pocketed her phone.

"I told you so," he deadpanned.

She blinked twice. "I'm sorry, you were saying? By the way, looks like Itachi won't be able to get you tomorrow."

He waved off her concern. "He won't be necessary. I can manage on my own."

"No, I can't allow it. I won't let a child wander off alone," she replied with vehemence.

"You _will_ discharge me," he all but commanded. He was a man of patience, but this impudent female was thinning his reserves with ease. She had the gall to defy him and look him in the eye. Her prolonged exposure to her husband, whoever he may be, must have rendered her immune to the Uchiha's heated yet cold glares.

"No," she firmly insisted. "Quit being so stubborn."

His face darkened as the battle of wills continued. "And you'll have me extend my residence in this whitewashed prison?"

She backed away slightly, still unblinking, much to his chagrin. She felt distraught, of course, having to confine the poor child in a place like this. It was necessary, however. Procedures and rules had to be followed. Her eyes then glistened with recognition, and a soft smile graced her lips. "Why don't you stay with me?" she suggested.

He scoffed. "Come again?"

She scrunched up her face, pouting her lips slightly. "Stay at my place. Technically, I am an Uchiha. I'll be your guardian."

"You're an Uchiha," he parroted back to her, a hint of mockery coating his tone.

She brushed away the raven strands covering his right eye. The contact sent a strange tingle down his spine. Curious. Meeting her eyes for the nth time, he glimpsed the unbridled happiness in her verdant irises. Curious indeed.

She glanced at her wristwatch and frowned. Blinding him with her radiant smile, she gave him a peck on the forehead. "I'll be back soon. Behave, okay, Madara?"

His eyes followed her as she exited the room. He chuckled. A warm, genuine laugh, one he hadn't heard in years. The pitch was off due to his underdeveloped voice box, but it bothered him not in the slightest. Perhaps his predicament was not such a terrible one. A childish grin spread across his features. "Sa-ku-ra. You are one interesting cherry blossom."

* * *

 **Fin.**

* * *

 _Reviews? Do warn me if my characterizations are going overboard. Constructive criticism, as always, will be very much appreciated._

 **-Pluie Mauve**


	2. Un

_**A/N:** Whew **.** So it's this difficult to write with your phone. I apologize in advance for any errors you might encounter in this chapter. Thank you very much for your support. I was quite surprised by the positive reception. Thank you, really. I've totally forgotten about the ever important disclaimer. Well, I'm including it now._

 _I don't own Naruto or its characters. That honor belongs to Masashi Kishimoto._

* * *

 **Un**

Although his features were still as tranquil water, his eyebrows twitched in irritation at the scene unfolding before him.

The teacher, whom he estimated to be in his mid-thirties, was gazing at him expectantly, a goofy smile adorning his pink lips. "Why don't you introduce yourself, Uchiha-kun?"

Taking a marker, Madara scrawled his name on the whiteboard, impressing everybody, including the teacher with his neat, sure strokes. He then turned to the class. His mind was plotting at an alarmingly fast rate, and had already come up with fifty different ways of disposing of the pink-haired nuisance. Despite the murderous thoughts and graphic, gory images swimming in his head, he maintained an indifferent facade, observing his surroundings with a blank expression.

"Uchiha Madara. Hajimemashite."

What followed his toneless statement made him seriously consider availing an eardrum transplant. The cacophony threatened to blast a hole through his tympanic membrane, the most deafening among the sounds being the high-pitched squealing by the blushing girls. How he relished the thought of ripping their lungs out of their chests.

"Eh? You're not a girl? Why is your hair so long?" a boy rudely questioned.

"Red eyes, cool!" remarked another enthusiastic kid, whose jaw had literally dropped.

He held no dislike for children. Having been the eldest of five, he cared deeply for his younger siblings. He treasured each moment he had with them, no matter how brief or seemingly insignificant. If anything, he appreciated, cherished, and most of all, envied them—that offending innocence, the infuriating obtuseness, the sweet freedom of inexperience, all such annoying qualities shielded them, a protective barrier against the cruel truths of the world.

He calmly raised a brow at the snotty brats. It had nothing to do with the impudent remarks, certainly not. Appearances were for the shallow. The unmatched inquisitiveness simply reminded him of what he once had. Of what he had lost. Of his failure. And that infuriated him to no end.

"Try asking your mommy about the difference between male and female," Madara stated impassively. His eyes drifted across the entirety of the class, taking in the dull expressions carved into the each of the children's faces. "As for my red eyes, they are a rarity exclusive to the Uchiha clan," he continued.

Expressions of awe erupted through the classroom.

"How old are you?"

"Your hair's soo cool. You're like…super saiyan!"

"Ne, ne, Madara, what's your favorite subject?"

Fortunately, his _sensei_ came to his rescue. The Uchiha was barely able to restrain his tongue from berating the silver-haired man for waiting too long to placate his unruly flock.

"All right, settle down, minna. You can talk to Madara-kun on recess and after class. Uh, Madara-kun, you can sit beside...Tsunade."

Madara walked over to the desk assigned to him, looking disinterestedly at the occupant of the one next to his. The girl wore a veil of white gold, which would have tumbled down her shoulders had it not been for the scrunchy restraining her mane. Her pearly whites were bared before him as she grinned widely, her soft brown eyes greeting him with warmth and glee, vaguely reminding him of someone.

She extended a pale hand. "I'm Senju Tsunade. It's nice to meet you, Madara-kun."

 _'Figures. Hashirama's offspring.'_ The ravenhead promptly accepted the handshake. "It's nice meeting you, too, Tsunade-chan."

The classes dragged on so painfully slow that he had been driven awfully close to counting the number of strands on his head. It was maddening. Had he been in the same age as his body, enduring this would still prove to be torture. His body, his now juvenile body.

He redirected all coherent thought to the conundrum he was faced with. Will his physical capabilities be limited to those of a mere boy? At least his conscious was intact. Or will that soon be taken as well, leaving him with a child's simplemindedness?

It was rather daunting, he found, having to perceive things from a much lower stature. He reckoned he wasn't even four feet tall.

"Let's eat together, ne, Madara-kun?" the Senju girl beamed at him, holding forward her pink lunchbox. Her lips were drawn into that toothy grin yet again. God, Hashirama just can't leave him alone, can he?

He acquiesced, smirking as he took out his own food. "I can't see why not."

Kudos to Sakura. She had managed to arrange a decent bento, pleasing both to the eyes and the palate. The side dishes were simmered to perfection, the meat impeccably succulent and tender. His tastebuds were swimming in euphoria with every bite. That was until he discovered the roe sitting atop the futomaki rolls.

Tsunade observed him curiously as he flicked away the accursed fish eggs using his chopsticks.

"I can't stand roe," he said curtly.

The girl let out a soft 'oh' before asking. "Mind if I have them instead?"

His brow rose for the second time today. He shrugged and presented his lunchbox to the other, who happily snatched up the roe. He cringed inwardly at the sickeningly sweet smile he was being subjected to. _Damn you, Hashirama_ , he cursed silently.

The Senju lass was rather ravenous, he observed, her lack of finesse apparent in the serving after serving of rice and vegetables and animal protein she'd shoveled into her mouth. The hairs at his nape prickled in mild disgust. He was a tad traditional himself, and he thought it unbecoming of a woman—no, anyone—to be eating in such an unsightly manner.

A sneer almost escaped him as he began hearing choking sounds. "Care for some water, Tsunade-chan?"

ѻѺѻ

Sakura waited anxiously as the hours dwindled, nearing the end of her shift. Her mind wandered to the Uchiha stripling. He must have been worried sick, resting in the expanse of that empty house, alone and unsupervised. Or not. Madara has always made it a point to assert his independence. Yeah, that kid should be doing fine.

The Uchiha was not very pleased with the idea of attending school, she was well aware of that fact. He had insisted that it was unnecessary, if not absurd. 'I fail to understand why I am obliged to put up with such idiocy,' was his snarky response to the sudden development.

He was brilliant, without a doubt. Much too learned for his tender age. Although precociousness is normally a trait that parents take pride in, she could not but grow concerned. Geniuses, prodigies, and the like tend to be alienated, be it by the society, or they themselves. Madara was not one for socializing. That aloofness combined with flawless arrogance and dark humor that appeared to be hereditary in the Uchiha clan was the perfect recipe for seclusion. Without warning, images of a mad scientist cackling evilly in the dimmed confines of his laboratory on the night of a brutal thunderstorm flashed through her mind. Or a sadistic dictator with an army of killing machines ushering world domination.

The ridiculousness of her thoughts hit her like a slap to the face. What had she been thinking? The boy in question was very much like Sasuke during his childhood, cold and distant and unapproachable. She had called him a prick once. But her husband turned out fine, and with no semblance to the futures presented by those horrifying visions. There was no reason for Madara to not tread the same path, was there?

"I must be _really_ tired," she sighed to herself as she unlocked the front door of the house.

The large space had always filled her with emptiness ever since Sasuke's passing, a representation of the void in her heart. She hated it.

There were times when she indulged in handicrafts—wooden puppets, knitted garments, and origami, to name a few—only to marvel at the disorderly state of her living space, to surround herself with the illusion of overcrowding. To dull the pain. To not feel alone.

For the first time, the vast blankness didn't feel desolate. Naturally, she couldn't shake the discomfort at the notion of replacing him. Never. Dead or alive, that man will forever hold her heart captive.

Seeing the boy peacefully slumbering on the couch tugged at her heartstrings, making a rush of happiness surge through her. _'I'm not alone_ , _'_ she reassured herself.

The smile upon her lips broadened further when she noticed the post-it on the fridge door.

 ** _Sakura,_**

 ** _Eat. You can't subsist on those pathetic hospital meals stolen from soup kitchens._**

 ** _Madara_**

 ** _P.S. Roe is unforgivable. I made that abundantly clear when we last talked about food._**

"Who knew you could be sweet and thoughtful." She microwaved the refrigerated meal and boiled some water for tea. Tasting the young man's cooking, she felt proud and embarrassed at the same time. She suspected that his culinary skills were better than hers. What a failure of a mother she was being.

 _Oh, there it is again. Baka baka Sakura, deluding yourself like this. You are not his mother._

After clearing the table and finishing her bath, she poured herself another cup of tea and returned to the living room. She had not seen it earlier, but there were ink-filled sheets of paper littering the coffee table. The sketches were meticulous, very well-detailed—almost like hand-drawn blueprints. A number of sheets were marred with series of complex equations and chemical formulas, which stared back at her like runic inscriptions or an alphabet of some intellectually superior, extraterrestrial race.

She decided to leave it alone and focus on the dainty figure that was swallowed by the cushions. Madara lied fully on the couch, slim creamy legs sprawled across the furniture and arms simply resting at his sides. His soft eyelids concealed the blood red gems that were his eyes and his lips were slightly pouted forming a small 'o.' His current state was so angelic that Sakura would have never associated him with his default sarcastic, fiendish self.

Indecision set in as she debated whether or not to rouse him. She seated herself on the unoccupied portion of the couch, only to jolt out of it when the boy stirred and wrapped his fingers around her neck. She was pinned to the floor, causing the cup of tea to fly out of her hands.

"Identify yourself." His voice was demanding, as was his arctic gaze. His grip tightened, forcing the air out of her. The haziness gradually faded from his eyes, replaced by recognition. Only then did he release her. "Sakura."

Rendered speechless from shock, she could only calm her shallow breaths. Her eyes flitted from the now tea-soaked floor, to her own hands, and then to Madara's eyes. Never in her life had she been so terrified by someone's touch.

Madara uttered inaudible profanities. He blamed her for it. She shouldn't have sneaked up on him the way she had. But it occurred to the Uchiha that it wasn't her intention. Nevertheless, it was not completely uncalled for. For all he knew, it could very well have been him gasping for air. Or worse.

"I...I-I didn't mean to startle you. I'm sorry."

He stretched his arm to her, reaching but not quite touching. His fingers hovered above her skin, as though afraid that she might break or burst into flames from even the slightest contact. "No. _I'm_ sorry."

How she loathed herself at that very moment. Heavily tormented the boy must have been to have such a reaction to the presence of the other. Perhaps he was a frequent recipient of death threats and assassination attempts. His extreme caution and apparent paranoia would not be entirely unreasonable. She took the outstretched hand into her own, squeezing it firmly. Her other hand darted forward to caress his unblemished cheek, thumb slowly tracing the curve of his chin.

"I can't claim to know what you have been going through, because, really, I don't. But know this, I'm willing to listen and understand. To help, if possible. I may not be your mother, and I may not have been with you from the very beginning, but I am here now. I will stay by your side, always, if need be."

His eyes widened momentarily before slamming shut and reverting to their original size. He lifted his free arm, latching his tiny hand onto her wrist and feeling the steady rhythm at her pulse. One of the sides of his mouth tilted skyward. "Doling out such oaths haphazardly...you might regret it someday, Sakura."

She pressed a finger to his lips. "It's way past bedtime. You still have school tomorrow, remember?"

Madara frowned at this. With a groan, he disentangled his limbs from hers, and rose to leave. He was suddenly yanked back, spinning on his toes and colliding with her softer womanly form.

Her embrace was warm and tight but not suffocating. "I'm here for you, Madara. I am and will always be."

"You're smothering me," he complained. He had never been one for prolonged skin-to-skin contact, finding affectionate touches and other such gestures overly dramatic and simply uncomfortable. Yet he made no attempt to move away from her.

Her hold slackened, but her arms were still snaked around him, still holding him close. Murmuring an apology, she leaned down and lightly pressed her lips to his forehead.

"Good night, Madara."

He stared at her for a few moments, eyes narrowing in suspicion. A smirk slowly graced his lips.

"Good night."

* * *

 **Fin.**

* * *

 _I'm really sorry for messing up the Senju family tree. I'm just not familiar with Hashirama's children. I'm actually beginning to doubt their existence._

 _To answer your questions regarding Madara's age, yes he is a child in this story. Well, at the moment, anyway._

 _Please do drop reviews if you have the time._

 _Ciao._

 **-Pluie Mauve**


	3. Deux

**_A/N:_** _久しぶり_ _. I've returned. I apologize for the delay. No legitimate reason for my absence, really. Just usually academic stuff. I have been stranded between mountains and mountains of papers._

 _Regarding Tsunade's relation to Hashirama, she is his granddaughter, not daughter. I didn't want to age Hashirama so much, though, so I decided to make him her father instead. Sorry for the confusion. As mentioned in the summary, this is in a modern setting. No shinobi, no chakra, no jutsu. Just normal, ordinary humans. Sorry._

 _You guys are awesome. The reviews really help, seriously. Your words encourage me to continue this fic that I never had much confidence in. Thank you._

 _I don't own Naruto or its characters. That honor belongs to Masashi Kishimoto._

* * *

 ** _Deux_**

Exhaustion was making itself known in the perspiration slickening his flushed skin and irritably matting his coal tendrils to his nape. It was already his seventh bout; he'd counted. _The last one_ , he thought with equal amounts of relief and frustration. He had hoped for a more satisfying fight, as the preceding ones proved to be maddeningly boring. Not that he was expecting anything.

This opponent, much like the previous ones, towered over him by a good four inches or so. A scowl, a pathetic attempt at intimidation, was directed at him. It was a breath of fresh air, a break from the monotony of smug grins from the arrogant brutes he had rendered unconscious earlier. Typical Goliaths, always overconfident and prone to underestimation. Regardless, he rewarded the boy with a bored, half-lidded stare.

"Ha!"

The sword came swinging toward his torso. He deflected the shinai and landed a quick hit on the portion of the head protector covering the throat. The enemy's onslaught continued, attack after attack after attack, never losing any energy. Their power, however, came at the expense of speed and accuracy. Madara effortlessly dodged the incoming slashes, every so often pushing his opponent a few steps backward. After parrying another succession of haphazard swings, he grew tired of being on the defensive. He stood still, watching and waiting as his opponent roared and charged.

This inaction was immediately interpreted as acquiescence. Everyone was expecting him to stumble back, cry out in pain, or even faint from the impact. But it never came. Not from the shorter boy, at least.

The brash attack, the opening that he was waiting for arrived in the form of a fierce downward vertical cut. At the last millisecond, he sidestepped and swung his shinai, executing a clean tsubamegaeshi.

Thunderclap. The boy staggered backwards from the force of the blow, legs failing beneath him and eyes screwing shut as a pained groan escaped his lips. He clenched his teeth and brought a fist to the wooden floor in vain effort to lift himself off the ground.

"You little—! I'm not done yet."

Using his shinai as a makeshift cane, the fallen fighter slowly rose. Underneath the network of metal and cloth of his protective headgear, his sweaty face was distorted in rage, hardened with stubborn determination. He pointed his shinai forward, an action that drained what little remained of his strength. Whatever front he was attempting to put up vanished as soon as he took that shaky first step. He fell on his face, eyes rolling back until only corneas were visible.

"Winner: Uchiha Madara."

The crowd roared with applause, marveling at the young champion who simply regarded their expressions of awe with a bow. It was only natural. How often does one see a pint-sized boy wipe the floor with consecutive foes almost twice his size? And in a national level competition at that.

Madara removed his mask as he made his way to the bleachers, pushing back errant strands that hanged over his face in the process. He was greeted by one smiling Sakura, who looked utterly impressed by his victory.

She gave him a pat on the shoulder and pulled him to her chest, uncaring for neither the moistness on the boy's skin nor the protestations on his lips. "You did very well. I'm so proud of you, Madara-kun."

He let out a groan which was muffled by her clothing, tensing as she reinforced the embrace that he was desperately trying to escape. Once released, he began peeling off his gloves, still casting her an annoyed look. "Shouldn't you be at the hospital or something? Don't want anyone missing their organs just because of me."

He caught a tinge of hurt briefly cross her features. Very briefly. Smile still intact, she flicked his forehead with her fingers. "No, silly. I'm sure they can live without me for a few hours. Besides, how can I miss this?"

Her hands flew to his back, undoing the rest of the knots that held his breastplate in place. She traced a finger from his scapula to his nape and lifted his spiky mane by its tips. "Doesn't all this hair get in the way?"

He wiped his hands on his hakama and sighed.

"Stay within 10 feet of me with a pair of scissors, and I'll make it rain blood."

 _Always the same question._ _Why does everyone make a big deal out of my hair?_

He'd never bothered with it before, simply allowing it to flourish into the thorny forest that it was. Never had he cut it... Except for that one time when he'd lost a bet with Hashirama, which left him with shoulder-length hair for a few weeks. He hardly ever groomed it, seeing no need to, so it fell to his otouto to make a constant effort to brush it whenever he had the chance. And even braid it from time to time. _Izuna._ He closed his eyes.

 _"...I'm not saying it's not beautiful or anything like that. I mean, if you and Hashirama would get yourselves into those shampoo commercials…imagine the sales! Look, it's almost past your ass now."_

 _"Because I can't see_ that _already. You're one to talk, ponytail."_

 _Izuna elegantly rolled his eyes at his brother. "It would actually help if you tie it for once. You forget, aniki. I have thin hair. It'll look good no matter what length." He distractedly grabbed a handful of Madara's locks and splayed it across his fingers. "Your hair is really soft, even though it looks like it can cut through flesh. You know what? You'd look great with an updo."_

 _"You're enjoying being my hairdresser far too much," Madara commented with an amused smirk. "Not that I'm ungrateful or anything, but surely Tobirama would better appreciate your services."_

 _The younger Uchiha had finished braiding half of his brother's hair. He huffed and pouted. "Like that's going to happen. After that mint green fiasco, I doubt he's ever gonna allow me to comb it. Let alone experiment with hairstyles. That idiot snowball can't even let his hair touch his shoulders."_

 _Madara chuckled softly. "Hashirama was so proud when he saw it. Honestly, I can't imagine Tobirama_ advocating _'environmental awareness' like his tree hugger of a brother."_

 _The younger concurred with a hum. He strung together the last stray strands of the elder's hair. "There. You look absolutely stunning, Mada-nii."_

A dull ache clawed at his heart at the fond memory. He watched Izuna's radiant visage fade from his view as Tsunade's congratulatory words invaded his senses.

"You were really awesome out there. Um, uh…h-here." She handed him a red fist-sized pouch.

Sakura's smile broadened into a grin at the interaction. She playfully winked at the Uchiha, who merely raised a brow in silent question. "That's really nice of you, Tsuna-chan. I'm glad you and Mada-kun are such good friends."

Madara eyed the item curiously but accepted nonetheless, uttering his thanks.

The Senju girl blushed mildly. "I'm not sure if…if you l-liked sweets so I…um…"

"So this is where you've been…"

All heads turned to the source of the voice. The man looked upon the three with a stern expression, the tenseness of his jaw being the only indication of his apprehension. His shoulders relaxed visibly, but his arms remained tightly folded across his chest. He glared at the blonde, quietly demanding an explanation.

"I…uh…um, Uncle…"

While Tsunade busied herself with nervous fidgeting and trying not to piss in her underwear, the Uchiha narrowed his eyes at the newcomer. He seemed _familiar._

Madara knew those reddish brown eyes anywhere, especially with the telltale gashes across his cheeks and down his chin. The color of blood, much like his own vibrant vermillion. _And my brother's._ What he barely recognized was the snowy tendrils bound in a ponytail that swept down to the small of his back. Since when did Senju Tobirama have long hair?

"Tobirama?"

The man shifted his arctic gaze at the mention of his name. "That's m—"

The once blank canvas was now streaked with a myriad of colors, marring the pristine mask of marble that he so expertly donned. Shock, disbelief, rage, and sadness twisted the Senju's delicate features beautifully. He swallowed audibly. Trembling fingers inched closer to the raven-haired boy, reluctantly reaching out to caress milky, unblemished skin. A very soft utterance left his equally shaking lips.

"I-Izu…"

His tone was heavy with sorrow. With longing. Before his fingertips could make contact with the other's flesh, Sakura's voice snapped him out of his trance. He reluctantly pulled his arm back.

His niece's transgression was temporarily forgotten. While he could clearly hear the fragments of Sakura's apology and Tsunade's scrambled explanation, Tobirama's attention lingered on Madara. He furrowed his brows upon seeing the tumult of agony and silent fury in the boy's wide, red eyes.

 _This boy…is he…is he angry at me?_

Such a spiteful look. He had seen it in many instances and always, _always_ in the Uchihas. To an outsider, a mere stare seemed like a death glare, a mute command to disappear from the face of the earth. He was accustomed to it, however. Izuna and his brother Madara were frequently in his company, after all.

The boy was undoubtedly an Uchiha. Wasn't Sakura married to one? _Uchihas,_ he sighed internally.

"…so, yeah, Uncle Tobi. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry," Tsunade concluded.

He faced the older female. "I apologize for my niece's actions, Sakura-san," he said curtly. "And thank you for looking after her. God knows what anija would have done if something bad had ever happened." Without turning his head, he directed his stare to Tsunade whose cheeks, he now noticed, were tinted pink. "Now, Tsuna-chan, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

The pink quickly deepened into scarlet. "Thi-this is Madara. U-Uchiha Madara."

"Madara?" He glanced at the boy who responded with a lazy, smoldering stare from beneath his heavy eyelids. Now, that was just terrifyingly familiar, that unamused expression. Adding that to the boy's likeness to the demon brothers, Tobirama found the resemblance somewhat unsettling.

"You named your son after that… _that—"_ For the sake of Hashirama's offspring, he held back any derogatory names he had for his brother's best friend and best friend's brother. "—soulless man?"

The pink-haired woman laughed softly. "Heavens, no. He's not my son." _Although I'd gladly have him as my own._ But she dared not voice out such thoughts.

"Oh?"

She stretched her arm toward Madara and ruffled his hair, a habit she'd come to develop as of late, much to the boy's annoyance. "It's a long story. If you have the time, I could tell you over some inarizushi, maybe? What do you think, Tsuna-chan?"

"Can we, Uncle Tobi?" Tsunade smiled, looking at her uncle expectantly. Pleadingly, almost. Both Madara and Tobirama scoffed inwardly at how similar it was to Hashirama's puppy dog eyes and pug pout combo. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

"Only if you promise to behave."

ѻѺѻ

"So, Madara, huh?"

Tobirama and Madara were alone at the table after the females left to powder their noses. The Uchiha was sipping his lemonade soundlessly while Tobirama listlessly poked at the grilled bass on his platter. To say that the atmosphere was awkward was a brutal understatement.

"Hn?"

"Hm."

"Tobirama."

 _Yup. Definitely awkward._ Tobirama relinquished his chopsticks, not really interested in the delicacy at the moment, despite it being his favorite animal protein. "What?"

"Hn. Nothing."

The Senju groaned inwardly but did not dignify him with a response. It was frustrating, much like talking to Izuna or Madara. Well, at least the Madara he knew.

Silence reigned for a minute until Madara broke it with four simple words. "He haunts you still."

Unsure if he had heard him correctly, he choked on his reply. "W-what? How did you—what are you saying?"

The boy looked upon him in the way one would upon an uncomprehending, ignorant child. "It's me. Madara."

"So you've told me."

"Imbecile. It really _is_ me."

Tobirama's eyebrows converged slowly as he narrowed his eyes, confusion and disbelief apparent in them. "So you're telling me…you're _the_ Uchiha Madara? The co-founder of Konoha? Last time I checked, anija's 'best friend' was in his mid-twenties."

Madara sighed for the second time today. He gave him an exasperated look, one usually reserved for Hashirama, his trademark _must-I-explain-everything_ look _._

"Of course, your suspicious, skeptical self will not take such claims at face value. You are just as trusting as I am," he drawled. The Senju's frown became more pronounced at these words. "That's good, I suppose. At least you have not been infected with Hashirama's idiocy and naivety during my brother's absence. I have one question, though, if you'd allow me."

"Shoot."

His red eyes left Tobirama's face, focusing instead on the man's bundled mane. "Are you seriously adopting Izuna's hairstyle?"

Madara knew that it would sting. He had meant it to hurt. Why? Out of habit, perhaps? It was a widely known fact that no love was lost between the Uchiha and his co-founder's brother. He savored how the man flinched, the way he averted his eyes, the regret darkening his already somber expression.

Receiving no retort, he spoke once more. "Believe me now, Tobirama?"

Like a rebooting computer, it took Tobirama a few moments to respond. His lips twitched upward into what appeared to be a smile. An awkward one. It was rather uncharacteristic of him, but he no longer cared. Normally, the mere sight of Uchiha Madara would have ruined his day. Now, however, his presence was inexplicably…welcome. Perhaps he missed Izuna too much.

"If he could see me now, he'd be jumping up and down, insisting to braid my hair."

"Not without critiquing your sloppy ponytail."

The white-haired man snorted, indignant. "At least I _fix_ _my hair_."

Madara rolled his eyes at the indirect accusation. "Hn."

"Okay, Uchiha Madara. I'll give you the benefit of doubt. Now, why don't we start from the top?"

* * *

 **Fin.**

* * *

 _Phew. Well, that update took forever. Again, I apologize. Wow, I've been doing that a lot lately. Hm._

 _Now, I'm not sure how soon I can update. Maybe within two weeks, a month. I really can't promise anything. But allay your fears, I will not be discontinuing._

 _Ciao._

 **-Pluie Mauve**


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